


calculated risk

by ashinan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 56, Episode Related, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pre-Slash, reactionary, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: Caleb's gamble pays off, and Fjord steps in.





	calculated risk

**Author's Note:**

> cant stop wont stop someone save me from writing these two being soft and supportive of each other. also I completely support caleb's decision, it makes hella sense, and I might be using fjord a lil bit to explain why. pre-slash because there is a lot of touching and fjord is terrible at keeping his crush a secret. dunno yall im still reeling and excited af about where theyre going with this so im still a bit AHHHHHH

A flurry of activity follows the Empress’ declaration. They’re lauded heroes, saviours of the Dynasty and its people, and Fjord’s gut churns. On one hand, they definitely have the favour of the Empress. On the other, Fjord’s already painstakingly plotting their trajectory back to the Coast while bypassing the Empire. Not to mention three of them technically have roots in the Empire. Even with Caleb’s declaration, that doesn’t change the fact that Beau, Jester, and Nott one day may wish to return.  
  
The Empress steps back, all her regality radiating to alight the chamber. Every single person in that room surges forward to surround them. Not to kill; no, their relief and exuberance buffet against the Nein, Fjord stepping close to Caleb in case hands are thrown. Caleb stands with his chin tilted up, gaze defiant and _terrified_ , exhilarated, and the Empress smiles that delicate smile once more. Caleb’s still, for the first time since Fjord has met him, perfectly statuesque and rooted.  
  
Calculated risk.  
  
Fjord bumps up behind Caleb, palm against the spread of his back, daringly slipping two fingers under the tight harness between his shoulder blades. Each vertebrae vibrates against his fingertips, condensed energy leashed through sheer force of will. Fjord pushes. Caleb leans back. Meeting him, trusting him, and Fjord cages a response behind his teeth.  
  
They’re ushered from the throne room, excited murmurs rippling out like a penny dropped in a fountain. News travels fast and crowds gather. The more halls they wind through, the more Caleb lags. No one has said anything. Silence crackles like static. Fjord maintains his contact with Caleb, a constant pressure against the jut of his spine, unless he falters. Shock has blanked Caleb’s expression. The hall ascends slightly and Caleb staggers, Fjord gently hauling him back up on his feet. Caleb swallows.  
  
As they wind around another corner, Fjord lengthens his stride until he’s beside Caleb. Ducking his head close, he whispers, “Where’s Frumpkin?”  
  
“Hm?” Caleb asks, blinking. His gaze settles on Fjord, the immediate stress lines relaxing. “Fjord.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m here, Caleb,” Fjord mutters reassuringly. Caleb nods, slow, molasses in motion. Fjord tries again, “But where’s Frumpkin at?”  
  
Frowning, Caleb reaches up, shackles clinking, fingers grasping at empty air by his right shoulder. Panic unfurls, ozone gathers, and Caleb’s fingers come together in a familiar snap. Fjord grabs at his hand, gentle, gentle, before the spell can complete. Caleb starts but doesn’t pull away.  
  
“Can you summon him under your coat? Subtle, like. Don’t want to make them anymore excitable,” Fjord explains. Caleb’s fingers curl, soot smearing over Fjord’s skin. Relief trickles into the uptick of his mouth. He nods.  
  
Exhaling, Caleb settles. Doesn’t remove his hand from Fjord’s, palm warm, shackle a chilling counterpoint. Shock still frazzles most of his expression, trembles in his jaw, and jumps his eyebrows. With a deliberate sway to the side, Caleb shoves his shoulder against Fjord, sticks close, and his free fingers snap. There’s a sharp uptick in ozone. Caleb’s jacket bulges at the neck. Frumpkin’s luminous gaze flicks up to Fjord, hidden beneath the large coat collar and loose drape of Caleb’s scarf. Fjord taps his claws quick and fast over Caleb’s shackles, not quite a mimicry of the snap but enough that the guards don’t question it.  
  
Immediate catharsis sags Caleb even further into Fjord. Frumpkin purrs, a low bass under the excited chatter of their current entourage, and Caleb sinks his fingers into his Familiar’s fur. He hasn’t stepped away; instead, Caleb ducks until Fjord’s forced to adjust, tucking Caleb firmly against his side. “ _Danke_ , Fjord.”  
  
Swallowing, Fjord grates out, “’Course.”  
  
They wind their way further. Everyone remains quiet, the procession losing excitement as they enter the very centre of the Empress’ chambers. The guards open a set of double doors into an antechamber, ushering them all through. The ceiling disappears above, chunks of hanging crystal and geodes sparkling like stars amongst a sea of magically produced darkness. Crystals of pale blue and purple pulse faintly. Even here, Fjord’s skin tingles with magic. Uk’otoa perks up.  
  
The chamber houses a long, oval geode, elegantly carved into a proper meeting table. Polished stone sparkles, the chairs each complimented by an ornate and surprisingly fluffy pillow. Artfully arranged chairs and loveseats take up the space to the far left, all facing a massive watercolour of the Xhoras wilds. Drapery hangs from the walls in elegant and intricate loops, gems sparkling with an inner light. Magic clings to every inch of the room.

Eight extra doors circle the room, all as ornate as the double ones they just walked through, destinations unknown. At the far end of the chamber, an open archway leads to a surprisingly bright kitchen.  The guards leave them alone, yanking the doors closed behind them.

The silence lasts three seconds.

“What were you thinking?” Beau snaps immediately, whirling. Caleb jumps, shifting away from Fjord. “What the _fuck_ , Caleb?”  
  
Licking his lips, Caleb says, “I – Beauregard, it was clear we were losing favour –”  
  
“We just needed to get our story straight!” Nott says.  
  
Caleb shakes his head. “Nott, the story was ruined the moment we asked Lady Oleos what consecution was. Suspicions had been cast. Lythier had witnessed our potential treason.”  
  
“You could have trusted us!” Jester accuses, betrayed and so clearly upset that tears bundle like ice in her eyes.  
  
Stricken, Caleb recoils. His hands jump to his arms, fingers digging in deep, as his eyes widen in confusion. Everyone talks at once, overlapping accusations, all aimed and directed at Caleb, at his choice, at him actively protecting the rest of the group. Implicating himself only, drawing attention to himself only, so the rest would not suffer the consequences of his choice. Fjord grinds his teeth as Beau and Jester both feed off each other, Nott joining in, Caduceus usually easy cadence replaced by a tight drawl. Caleb flinches, each word a blow, an open slap against his ingenious gamble.  
  
Fjord strides forward, shielding Caleb from the berating of the group. Jester jerks back in insult, the rest of her accusation bitten off. Nott twists her fingers together. Fjord lifts his hands, placating. “I’m not hearing a whole lot of thanks going ‘round.”  
  
“Why would we thank him?” Beau asks, incredulous. “He just gave up all we had as leverage!”  
  
“He also saved our hides. Her Ladyship wasn’t all that impressed with what we were offerin’, and even if going to jail was something I planned, well.” Fjord pauses. Steadies himself. “We don’t know where Nott’s husband is. That was my assumption. Everything Caleb did was to buy us time.”  
  
A palm against his back, fingers fanned out and trembling. Fjord stands his ground. Gently, the pressure increases, and Caleb’s forehead thuds between Fjord’s shoulder blades. Sinks closer with a grateful sigh. Beau glares, teeth bared, and Fjord raises a brow. Widens his stance. Purposefully uses his bulk to hide Caleb behind him.  
  
“He did it without consulting anyone,” Beau snaps, fear and shock warring with logic. Fjord shakes his head. Beau barks a laugh, tight enough that Caleb rolls his forehead against Fjord. “Again, like always! We weren’t –”  
  
“They would’ve found it,” Caleb murmurs. Fjord repeats him, projecting where Caleb can’t. “They would have found us out the moment they searched us. Better to present the dodecahedron as a boon than be immediately executed.”  
  
“How could you know that?” Beau asks, quieter, fury banked to terrified confusion. She’s so young, shoved into the limelight of a war that they’d all actively dodged around for the better part of their time together. Responsibility settles on people different; Fjord has carried his for years, in the bow of his head and shortening of his teeth, in service to many people that viewed him as a monster. Caleb has suffered at the hands of the Empire itself, his responsibility scarred into his very flesh and never forgotten. The rest of the Mighty Nein barely show the weather of their years, still bright and idealistic and irrational.    
  
Back when Fjord had shakily gone to Caleb about Avantika, hiding how he was drowning, dying, and that he was sure the experience would kill him, he had asked Caleb to make the hard decisions. To keep the group safe and alive and together. At the time, Fjord had been certain Caleb would calculate the loss of Fjord versus the continued growth of the Nein and make the logical choice. Instead, Caleb had weighed in _Fjord’s_ favour, had kept Fjord by his side, had raised fire out of nothing. Between them and us, Caleb had said. And to really stick it to Avantika, Caleb had blown up her ship.  
  
Caleb had understood Fjord’s hidden plea and responded in the most beautifully unexpected way possible.  
  
Fjord says, “Calculated risk.”  
  
Caleb laughs, low and rough and sobbing, his fingers ghosting over Fjord’s wrist before they coil tight. Grounding. Fjord exhales and says, “Listen, we botched the entire plan. We gave ourselves away. Options were running low, all that bullshit, and none of us had a clear idea of what to do.”  
  
“We tried –” Jester starts and Fjord holds up his hand.  
  
“I know. But we had no time; none of us thought ahead of the now. Caleb did. That’s it.” Fjord shifts, pressing into the weight of Caleb against him. Responding in kind: _I’m here_. “He did the math. We’re alive.”  
  
Quiet. The rest of the Nein mull it over, expressions pinched and worried and downright terrified. Beau’s gaze burns lightning across Fjord’s face, her own insecurities manifesting in the only way she can handle. Instead of continuing the conversation, she turns to Jester and jerks her head to the side. Caduceus watches on.  
  
Behind him, Caleb shuffles forward until he’s more or less pressed against Fjord’s back. He’s still shaking. Under his breath, low enough that only Fjord can pick it up, Caleb whispers, “ _Danke_ for trusting me. You shouldn’t, but you do. Thank you, Fjord.”  
  
Grateful sincerity peppers each letter with a weight that snags behind Fjord’s ribs, tugs, settles. Fjord carefully loosens Caleb’s hold on his wrist until he can tangle their fingers together, anxious palm against anxious palm, claws ghosting over Caleb’s fragile knuckles.  
  
“You did good,” Fjord says low, “they’re in shock. We all are. You did what was best.”  
  
Caleb shakes his head against Fjord’s back as he tightens his hold on Fjord’s fingers. “I did not. I did what we had not yet tried, gambled with our fates and lives, and somehow still it was wrong.”  
  
“None of that now,” Fjord soothes. Caleb thunks his head against Fjord’s back again, harder than before, and Fjord tugs on his hand. “Your gamble paid off. They’re just young.”  
  
Caleb scoffs. “If we’re speaking in terms of youth, with more than a decade of my own time lost, my thoughts should run similar to theirs. Yet, I chose a preservation method that most of our group does not agree with.”  
  
Stilling, Fjord parrots, “’A decade lost’?”  
  
“Ah.” Caleb pauses, stalls, his fingers going loose and uncertain against Fjord’s. He doesn’t step back. Fjord inhales. Caleb mimics him, the two breathing in sync, until Fjord gently turns. Caleb steps back, silent and still, gaze firmly on the ground.  
  
“You wanna expand on that?” Fjord asks, taking Caleb’s other hand. Caleb still won’t make eye contact, all thinned lips and pinched brows, his hair dishevelled and falling out of his usual tie. “Caleb.”  
  
Sighing, Caleb says, “I – wished to speak to you in private about it. You asked me, back in the cavern, if –”  
  
A hollow bang fills the room, followed by the doors immediately cracking open. Guards pour through, and Fjord yanks Caleb behind him. The rest of the Nein bunch together, countless battles and shit situations innately drawing them close. The guards all line up along the sides, glittering mythril and veiled faces, as the Bright Queen herself enters the antechamber.

Rivers of silver and diamond fall from her shoulders in a glimmering shawl, churning into a froth of stunning gems at her feet. The armour has been replaced by a high collared gown, dusted with starlight and coloured by the earliest glow of dawn. The crown remains, three long horns of crystal and diamond. Ornaments glisten in her hair. Before them stands the proper Bright Queen, Empress to the Kryn Dynasty, Leylas Kryn. The sheer presence of her, coupled with the dodecahedron in her hands, outshines everyone.

Gliding across the floor toward the geode table, the Empress eyes each of them, gaze lingering on Caleb even with Fjord shielding him. She places the dodecahedron on the table. Pale eyes swing to take them all in, that delicate smile adding to her impossible visage, as she gestures to the table.

“Shall we begin?”

Their gamble continues.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [my fandom twitter](https://twitter.com/ashinanfandom?s=09) (where I am crying all the time about critrole).


End file.
